


Bent

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (sort of), Angst and Porn, Bottom Dean, Community: spn-masquerade, Dean's Jacket, Episode Related, Episode: s01e16 Shadow, First Time, Hurt Boys, Leather Kink, M/M, Manhandling, Mirror Sex, Possessive Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6373702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing Dad again cracked something in Sam. And who’s Dean kidding? He’ll give Sam whatever he needs to heal it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bent

Dean drives hell bent for leather out of the city. Sam faces the road, side of his mouth, jaw, neck all strung tight. Arms crossed against his chest. Left heel tapping. Blood.

Halfway to Kankakee they pull off. Chat access road disappears between winter fields of broken stalks and black earth. Chain stretches across but it’s long and wide enough to –

“Let’s clean up some, huh? Don’t need some nosy motel clerk blabbin about bloodsoaked maniacs.”

Sam stalks to the trunk. Digs through their clothes while Dean hefts the first aid kit. Slams the lid.

“Up.”

“Dean…” Eyes glitter, full moon and far-off street light.

“C’mon, Sammy. It’s tradition.” Soft.

Tension ratchets down as Sam’s shoulders fold forward. He hooks a boot and slides up on the trunk. Dean steps between his knees.

Hunter’s helper and the scraps of what was once Dean’s favorite shirt. Sam flinches at the first brush to his shredded cheek. Then he grits his teeth and locks it down.

Dean dabs away at his brother’s spilled blood, gentle like Sam’s still a baby, skinned knee still a catastrophe. Feather-light fingers over and between the shadow’s slashes. Antiseptic cream and butterfly bandages. There’ll be scars.

“Your turn,” Sam mumbles. Soaks a rag in eighty proof and lifts it to Dean’s forehead.

Dean’s eyes water and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. Sam’s not so gentle. Years of _Quit treatin me like a fuckin chick_ did their work. Even so, Sam lingers. Hesitates with his fingertips pressed to the cut in Dean’s lip. Sam’s eyes tighten and ease at the corners, rabbit quick. His fingers retreat and his mouth takes their place. Dean gasps.

He should stop this. Shove Sam’s shoulders and call him a girl and forget all this. Sam’s kiss stings and stinks of liquor but it only skirts the place they don’t go. Ends almost faster than it starts.

Then Sam’s bandaging Dean’s forehead and shaking out a trash bag for their bloody clothes.

Dean’s hand drags across his mouth. Gets it bleeding again but that’s better than Sam’s phantom warmth.

He heads east at the next crossroads. Safer outta state. In place of Sam’s locked jaw and tapping foot are stubborn shoulders, measured breaths. Dean turns up the radio, loud, and Sam doesn’t flinch. If anything he settles a fraction into his seat.

*

Somewhere, Indiana, Super 8 off 65.

“First shower,” Sam deadpans no sooner than the front wheels bump into the lot.

“Okay, Quickdraw McGraw. Means that much to you.”

Sam huffs out his nose.

He’s still in his towel when Dean’s finished his turn. Vaguely frightening calm falls over Sam. Dean shivers as a trail of water drips from his hair down his spine, cold.

“I wanna fuck you, Dean.”

Eyes pop. “You,” cough-laugh, “always this smooth, Sammy? No wonder you never get – ”

Rest of that sentence puffs out in an _oof_ when his back thumps the bathroom door jamb. Sam’s huge paws settle on his chest, slide up his shoulders, back down his arms.

“It’s not a joke.”

“You got that right.” Fists at his sides. “Jokes are funny.” Clenched. Adrenaline narrows his vision. Sam. Looking him over like drinking him in. Fucking with him. Gotta be.

Sam’s fingers curl at the small of his back. Skim the towel at his waist. “Deflect all you want.” Breath steams down his turned-away face. “It’s us now.” Dean flinches. “ _Just_ us.”

“That what this is?” Sneer in his voice. “Little Brother’s last act of rebellion?”

Sam’s nose brushes a side-to-side line below his ear. Sam’s dry chest slides against his dripping one. Unmistakable sound of towels dropping wet to the carpet and Sam palms his ass. “Do you wanna stop?”

Dean’s head rolls into his brother’s shoulder. Between them his cock stands up, inches from Sam’s, red-purple and straining. “Sam…”

In a flash Sam’s hands rake up his back and wrap around his skull. Dean slumps into him, lets his little brother maul his mouth and rub their dicks together. Sammy’s clumsy. Little too eager, sloppy like a virgin, scorching. Dean gets a grip in Sam’s hair, finds his fight, and shoves Sam into the frame on the other side.

Dean bangs his knuckles jerking Sam’s head back. “Listen to me. If this is some kind of fuck-with-Dad-by-fucking-Dean trip, then yes. I wanna fucking stop.”

Sam stares, wide pupils over red cheeks and a redder mouth. “Dean, no.” His palms fall on Dean’s shoulders. “I just thought, after this, maybe…” Sam looks up, pushes into Dean’s grip on his hair. “Maybe this time you’d finally choose me. After the rawhead, after Lawr – ”

He shuts up when Dean tightens his fist. He stretches up and _ain’t that somethin,_ scatters teasing kisses along Sam’s jaw. “What do you want, Sam?”

“I wanna fuck you.”

“You said that.”

“And I want you to wear your jacket.”

Dean’s cock takes a surprising interest. “Sammy, Sammy. Into leather. Shoulda known you were a – ”

Sam starts backing him up toward the bed. “Shut the fuck up or I swear I’ll use strawberry lube.”

“It’s the fact that you _have_ strawberry lube takes the sting outta that threat.”

*

Dean’s eyes flutter up when Sam drags past that spot inside him. Again. Bad enough he’s bent over like Sam’s bitch. Be nice if he could knock off whining like it. Sam keeps wringing it out of him, though. Dean plants his face in a pillow and _does not look_ at Sam’s triumphant smirk.

’Cause he can hear it. Pillow or not he’s in the path of a freight train of filth. Every dark perverted thing Sam ever fixed that giant brain on.

Dean grinds against him. Dick neglected and dangling, drooling. “Gimme another.” Sam’s grip on his thigh tightens. “Or just, get on with it. Gimme somethin, man, I’m dyin here.”

Audible exhale and Sam’s fingers pull out to the tips. Cool lube hits Dean’s hole and it’s three going in, stretching a groan out of him. Sam doesn’t wait long. Works the last of the lube up his ass, pets and pinches his side.

And disappears. Drafty, slick running over Dean’s balls and down his thighs.

“Dean?”

_Right._

Sam stands over the bed, worn leather in a clutched fist. “C’mon.”

Dean rocks up, reaches out. Sam cocks his head. Dean shrugs and follows. Grins when Sam ducks behind him, in front of the mirror, holds up the coat. Dean indulges, lets Sam pull the sleeves up over his arms.

Sam’s pale shoulders peek above his brother’s as he gropes. Starts at Dean’s popped collar and squeezes, strokes down his arms. Hard-on bumps against Dean’s ass, nose bumps his ear. He drifts inside the coat, fingers the grooves of Dean’s hips and the lines of his abs.

Dean shudders, leans into his brother. All familiar weight and heat but alien against bare skin. Then Sam’s hand spreads across his belly and the other curls around his amulet and Sam walks them forward, drags Dean down til he’s ass up in front of the mirror. Knuckles paler than the sink.

Their eyes meet in the reflection and Dean drops his head. Sam spreads him and feeds in his dick. Dean breathes. Goosebumps rip across him and he arches, bends. Wills his body to let Sam in. He grits his teeth, blinks. Sam’s hands find his hips, thumbs trace soft circles.

“You okay?”

“Fuckin peachy.”

“We don’t have to do this. We can stop. Or use the bed. Or – ”

“Oh no, bitch, you started this.” Dean takes a long slow breath. On the exhale Sam’s cock sinks a little deeper. “Get it in there. Just, shove it in and then gimme a minute.”

“Dean, that’s – ”

“Like ripping a Band-Aid off, right?” Sam’s laugh buzzes straight up Dean’s ass and he flinches. “C’mon man.”

“You’re dyin here, I know.” Sam cleans his hands and wraps around his brother. Curls his fingers into Dean’s lapels. “You ready?” Least he’s finally sounding shaky.

“Waitin on you, princess.”

Sam cocks an eyebrow and flares his nostrils.

Dean thinks for a second he shouldn’t provoke his naked brother. Sam slams into him. Dean grits a moan and his vision tunnels. Unsteady. Decades of sour salt and leather fill his nose. Sweat drips down his temples. Jacket creaks and pops where Sam digs in, slow fucks him. Knuckles rake his nipples, forehead presses into his back. Sam’s cock saws in and out of him. Overstimulating. Overdosing on his brother and –

“Stronger without us that’s bullshit, John fucking ditched us. You and me, we’re on our own now, Dean, Daddy’s soldier, not any-fucking-more you’re not you’re mine, you hear me?”

“Yours, Sammy,” Dean breathes and Sam’s head snaps up, animal wild. Hair sticks up all over the place. Neck shines with sweat. Two of his bandages dangle loose and two more won’t be long.

Sam slides a hand up Dean’s chest and cups his chin. Stands him up and pulls them flush together. Shallow thrusts. Blood trails from Dean’s mouth where he’s chewed his split lip. Coat scrunches up in the back, pushes open the front. Dean’s cock sticks out, curved and spasming. Sam’s hands light on his hips, frame his cock and balls, press at his thighs.

“Fuckin gorgeous,” Sam mumbles. Starts to pull out. Drags them back toward the bed.

Dean groans.

Soon as his head hits the pillows Sam’s on him, pulling his legs up and out and hammering in like they’re made for this. Bangs stick to Sam’s face, chest and shoulders flex and shine. Dean rolls his back and churns his hips until –

“Aw, fuck yeah, Sammy, right – ” Hand on his dick and he’s incoherent. Howling, coming, harder than he can ever remember. Sudden frantic thrusts and a strangled shout and Sam’s with him, long neck stretched, arms straining.

Sam drops his legs and roots his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, under his collar. Clutches his lapels. Dean feels come leaking out from around where Sam’s buried in him. Burns and it’s kinda gross but he wouldn’t move Sam for the world.

“Meant what I said.” Sam turns his head. Hair catches in five-o’clock-yesterday shadow. “You’re mine, Dean. It’s just us now.”

“Yeah, Sammy.” Til they kill the demon and Sam goes back to Stanford and law school and Dean’s on his own. Fuck it. Dean wraps his arms around his brother’s shoulders, gives a squeeze. He’ll take everything Sam wants to give him, if it puts him in an early grave.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from [Supernatural Masquerade](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/7665.html?thread=2433009#t2433009) Round 4.


End file.
